[images & words is the comic book pick-of-the-week at OL. equal parts review and diatribe, the post highlights the most memorable/infuriating/entertaining book released that wednesday]

Starting this week, the entire Marvel Universe is going to be under Siege (2)!!!

Not to be outdone by the super-mega-wowie event of their distinguished competition, Marvel Comics has launched Siege. In a nutshell, this four-part miniseries follows Norman Osborn’s attempt to  conquer Asgard and maintain his position of power. But since Asgard is Thor’s home (and everyone loves a hunky blonde), ass-kickings are guaranteed to fly off of the panels.

And from nearly every promotion I’ve seen for Siege, the end result promises to be the reuniting of Tony Stark/Steve Rogers/Thor, a trio that (apparently) haven’t been BFFs for seven some-odd years. Although my inner cynic is telling me that such a move is counter-productive to character development and innovative storytelling, I can’t help but fall for it. I’ve seen a lot of different Avengers teams since I starting re-reading comic books back in 2004, but I’ve yet to see the lineup. I’m ready.

Potential outcomes aside, Siege #1 is a  solid start to the limited series. In the current day and age of comic book events that have prerequisite crossovers & tie-ins, the scripting of Brian Marvel Bendis is quite appreciated.  Through the course of seven pages, Bendis introduces the reader to an Asgardian named Volstagg, makes the reader care about him, and then pisses on these sympathies by having Loki and Osborn victimize the poor bastard. Ostensibly, a fan can pick up Siege without having read all of the Dark Reign titles and fully understand what the fuck is going on.

So while this first issue mostly consists of set-up and exposition that I already knew, I have to applaud the execution. Bendis walks the line, both providing context for those just jumping in while also tantalizing the diehards with appetizers of the battles for which we’ve been waiting.  Siege #1 blows up a football stadium, allows Ares to hesitatingly call Osborn’s troops to arms, launches fighter jets at a floating Asgard, beats down Thor, and shows us a certain all-American more pissed than he’s looked in years.

In the art department, Oliver Coipel’s stellar pencils are deftly rounded out by Mark Morales’ inks. Maybe I’m paying too much attention, but I love the way Morales approaches the visages of the more nefarious characters; the eyes of Obsborn, Loki and the Sentry are all shrouded in darkness as they stare right at the reader. Completing the book’s art is colorist Laura Martin, who continues to impress just as she did for all ten years of the glorious Planetary.

Maybe I’m just thinking wishfully, but something tells me that Siege is going to reinstate some sort of status quo in the 616. Therefore, I’d recommend the series not only to regular comics-readers but also to onetime fans hoping to get back in the game.

So in spite of the occasional shit-talking I do about comic events, I stand behind Siege #1.

[PS — Apologies for using the same picture for Images & Words as Caffeine Powered rocked for Variant Covers for the second week in a row. My bad.]

Perhaps the best way to describe the insanity that is Bayonetta is this: there was a moment this morning when I was frantically mashing on the X button on my 360 controller, while using my free hand to pound a two-liter of Diet Mountain Dew. On screen, an enormous demon dog type-thing was munching an enemy of mine. You see, it informed me to smash on the X button to make the battle CLIMAX. Following the encounter, Bayonetta moans, and upon receiving a Platinum Award at the end of the battle, you catch a cheap shot of her ass.

In other words, this game was created with me in mind. It’s utterly ludicrous. The action scenes are over-the-top slow-motion wank fests. The characters beyond wacky, and for some reason Bayonetta is always sucking on a lollipop, or finding a way to flash a glimpse at her leather covered crotch. It is hyper sexuality done to the zillionth degree, baked in a stew of genital-engorging character designs and frenetic action. Did I mention it was awesome?

I’m only on Chapter 4, but I figured I should post these impressions. Since I have been jacking off this game for roughly seventeen months, and I figure people are like, “Hey Ian, you sicko. Are you too busy masturbating to give us any sort of impressions?” Well, here you go. As a brief aside, I was going to type “Rubbing your man-clit”, but that just sounds so awful. Even for me.

Yeah, I’m completely fucked up on caffeine, and using Flash-like powers to try and jump into the future at the moment. What it looks like? Me running really fast into my wall, while my Nana screams at the loud and confusing noises. The cats look on at me with embarassment, wishing they could communicate in Human Talk to tell me what a dumb ass I am.

Fans of Kamiya, there’s some pretty rad fanservice for you. If you’re geeks for Devil May Cry and Viewtiful Joe, you’ll appreciate this. Bayonetta not only utters the words “Flock off”, in reference to the best line in gaming since “Jill, here’s a lockpick. It might be handy if you, the master of unlocking, take it with you”, from Resident Evil. Also a Kamiya game. And if Viewtiful Joe is your thing, Bayonetta, while hurtling through the air on some piece of decimated street, drops “Dancing a-go-go.”

Awesome. Well, there you have it. If I don’t die from a burst heart-organ, or from fapping myself into a friction-burn-induced-immolation, I’ll write something up upon completing it.

[click the picture for a high-res version]

Over at Slashfilm they passed on a couple of LOST promos that have the gang posing like Jesus and his B-Boy posse from the famous Last Supper painting. Slash also mentions that a bunch of other television shows have done it, but I don’t love none of them more than Battlestar Galactica. It is fitting then, that my two favorite shows wank one another off.

And take a good luck at who is rocking the Jesus of the table, Locke! But wait, did he really come back from the dead? Or was his broken, bald, scarred, dumb body simply possessed by Facob, or Jacob’s enemy, or whatever you want to call him? Who the hell knows! I’m ready though. This shit is getting real. My pants are getting tight. I got a pencil, a pad of paper, and my DVR. I’m cracking the code. THE CODE.

Head over to Slashfilm for high-res versions of the promo. And commence fawning, fapping, and anxious awaiting.

At first blush, I have absolutely no idea what the fuck is going on in this picture. Let’s take a good look. We have a giant robot looking thing, that seems like something out of Gurren Lagann, fighting some sort of dog-snake-thing. It would be pretty sick if you got to pilot mechs in Final Fantasy XIII. But instead, you’re driving a motorcycle, that is actually Shiva. It doesn’t make any sense to me at this point, and every time I try to watch a video of the combat system I just walk away confused but excited.

There is some sort of epic clash going on here, and someone is driving something. I think it’s probably the hot chick with the red hair from a prior installment of WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON IN THIS FINAL FANTASY XIII SCREENSHOT, but I could be wrong. The battle system seems so kinetic and over the top it is going to gel perfectly with my caffeine addiction, and utter lack of attention span. Oh pretty numbers, and attacks, and deduction of hit points!

HIT POINTS!!!

[Remember That Time On LOST is a daily post running the entire month up until the season premiere of LOST on February 2nd. I’m going to just pick something awesome, noteworthy, or ludicrous about LOST when I wake up that morning, and hopefully get you geeks talking about it with me.]

You guys probably don’t remember Artz, do you? That’s because you’re dicks. No, he’s not gorgeous, even though he has a sweet beard. In fact, he was sort of downright pathetic. In a lovable sort of way, of course. And if you do remember him, it’s probably because he blew himself up with a righteous stick of dynamite. A thundering boom of oblieration, sending chunks of his own dumb ass into the air, landing on everyone around him. Kaboom! A blast of appreciable proportions, that sent that son of a bitch Locke onto his ass.

Artz was just a lonely dude who wanted to come on a sweet adventure with the cool kids of the Island. He was a chemistry teacher at some shitty high school. I bet the kids drew pictures of him in his chemistry class, and they always made those funny odor lines around his armpits and had him saying things like:

You fucking kids, how many times do I have to tell you that salt is NaCl! You’re never going to get anywhere, I’m fat!

Deep down inside though, he seems like a lovable guy who just wanted to have some fun. Hated by his wife, he was probably absolutely stoked to be on the Island.

Whether you remember it or not, Artz served as a conduit for all the complaints from dickheads who can’t suspend disbelief. You know, the guys who were like, what about the other survivors! It is so improbable that they’d just let these eight people run around saving the world while the rest of them hung out with Bernard and like, played grab ass.

It’s great that the Brigade of Dorks and Philosophy Nerds that write LOST decided to address it through Artz. Using our boy Mr. Chemistry Teacher, they threw all the geeks who spend their days talking about implausbility in shows that feature Smoke Monsters a bone and shit. Here, we won’t ignore it, we’ll talk about it. Using a squishy dork to wear the mask of the complaint.

While Jack and That Chick With the Linebacker Shoulders and Locke rummaged around in the Black Rock for dynamite to blow up the Hatch, Artz and Hurley shot the shit. Realizing that they’re both fat, lovable losers, Artz felt a really deep connection with Hugo, though that’s because he didn’t realize Hurley was batshit insane and communicated with dead people. He probably thought that he was just a better placement in the crash away from being in Hugo’s place! You see, there’s only room for one fat unsexy person in a clique, and he thought it was just chance that Hugo got to snag it. But uh, that’s probably also what he thought because he didn’t realize Hugo was part of DESTINY or something. It was during this opining that he launched into his classic dialogue on the whole “situation“.

Hugo was all ignoring him, and probably thinking about pizza-covered spaghetti, when Artz says:

Am I boring you? You know what, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m not cool enough to be part of your merry little band of adventurers. I know a clique when I see one, I teach high school, pally. You know you people think you’re the only ones on this island doing anything of value. I got news for you, there are 40 other survivors of this plane crash, and we are all people too.

Pretty great. And then he mentions how Kate gets all the sweetest wreckage to build her shelter, and how Jin only catches food for the cool kids, and then he calls Hurley out for being a fat ass and having lost no weight on the Island. Mind you, addressing another complaint of nerdbombers who hyper fixate on pointless details on a show filled with fantasy.

And then? Then they blow him the fuck up! Artz seized his moment in the spotlight, screaming about dynamite breathing, and stuff that I don’t remember, because he was a chemistry teacher. Finally the fat dork’s time to shine. And while he is bragging, ka-pow. Later Artz, it has been real. They blow up the manifestation of all the grief given towards the implausibility of the show. See you later fat griping nerd! It’s pretty stellar, and when it happened I jumped because I’m a little nancy.

What follows is fantastic, though sort of odd. Not one of the Cool Kids gives a flying fuck! It’s the only time in the show when a death is addressed without any sort of seriousness. The dude is reduced to gut-cinders, and the rest of the gang just giggle! Yeah, it is sort of fucked up, but it fits with the guy’s whole premise. A big bloated conglomeration of complaints that the writers don’t care about, that are then addressed, and blown up, as the characters laugh at the character.

Just like, I’m sure the writers laugh at the complaints.

Cool kids, what a pack of dicks.

[Remember That Time On LOST is a daily post running the entire month up until the season premiere of LOST on February 2nd. I’m going to just pick something awesome, noteworthy, or ludicrous about LOST when I wake up that morning, and hopefully get you geeks talking about it with me.]

One of the forgotten things about LOST was the really interesting moral dilemma they brought up back in Season One. What moral dilemma, you ask? Well, it’s no other than this: when is it cool to make the sexual intercourse time with your sister? Yeah, I know. It’s a tricky, tricky situation. Boone banged the hell out of his hot sister, Shannon. It all happened off screen, but I’ve read some fan fiction, and while it isn’t exactly canonical, it’s pretty hawt, trust me.

Let’s examine the situation here. Boone’s mom and Shannon’s dad got married when the two will-be-awkward-lovers were just kids. Already, I mean, they aren’t bursting out of the same wombs! And furthermore, they don’t have the same last names! Boone Carlyle, Shannon Rutherford. I mean, you wouldn’t even know they’re quasi-related, just from being introduced to them!

Continuing, there’s also the fact that Shannon’s dad is totally pushing daisies. That’s right people looking for reasons that their behavior as acceptable, Mr. Rutherford is fucking mortis, man.

So they’re not blood-related, and the union that made them even tenuously related has been severed. By death. Never to be rekindled, unless Boone’s mom is a necrophiliac. Which would be pretty interesting, but I doubt that they’re going to delve into that in the finale season since they’ll be busy answering and not answering everything.

LOST is a smart show, man. What an interesting question they pose to the viewer: are you ashamed or completely okay with the burning sensation of love and the terse nature of your underloins as they become engorged with blood when you see Boone and Shannon make out in some dingy Australian hotel room? And as an aside, it is so obvious they didn’t film the episode in Australia, there’s not one fucking kangaroo in the shot! I’ve been to Outback Steakhouse, I know Australia. They should have ponied up the cash for it. Cheap bastards.

Me? I’m okay with it! It is a bit awkward, since you know that they pretended to be brother and sister for a while. But I mean, come on! I appreciate the issue you have raised, LOST writers, but it seems quite obvious. Two siblings, only by marriage, after the marriage has been destroyed by the scythe of the Reaper, are completely okay to bone. I mean, stop being such prudes! This is 2010. There are people painting each other in fluids on the internet, and we’re going to get up in airs about this? Oh puh-lease!

Let the two love birds have their fun. Of course, after they finally make sweet, sort of bizarre love, Shannon tells him that they’re going to just pretend like it didn’t happen when they get home. What a bitch she is, even if she is probably being properly practical. I mean, as much as I am for free love and shit, they can’t really thrive in a world that isn’t filled with liberal, lawless, godless heathens like me.

“Oh yeah, this is my wife. How did we meet? Well, we were taking baths together before our pubic regions had been activated by the Hand of Hormones. Yeah, step-siblings. And then, like, her Dad died, and we were both lonely, and here we are! What do you mean stay away from your children? Don’t fucking judge us! Love knows no bounds, and laughs at conceptions perpetuated by contemporary social power structures!”

Boone and Shannon’s screwing was a pretty good picture of what LOST was in Season One. As Pepsibones Krueger pointed out while talking to me, “At that point the show was a drama exploring people’s lives, with a little Sci-Fi thrown in”, which sums it up better than I could have. It’s interesting to see an episode like this, where it is centered around Boone and his incestuous Messiah Complex. Which makes me wonder, can it be a Messiah Complex when the whole reason you’re saving that person is because you were smuggling panties out of their bedroom when you were thirteen and confused?

I’m not sure.

But I mean, what were these two characters around for? Every one else on the show seems to hold some sort of amazing, important connection to the Island and they were like beckoned there by the hand of Jacob or whatever. These two? Who the fuck knows. Did they die because they weren’t important? Or were they never made important in future episodes because they were killed off? Or more than likely, were the writers just wanting to write an episode with a sweet ass moral dilemma?

Bayonetta’s here. She’s really here. She’s in my room. She’s mine! Stay the fuck away, Kenobi! And oh, I’m ready. To uh, play the game. Yup.

[variant covers is a column every tuesday that breaks down the various titles coming out that week in the world of telekinesis and titty shots]

Siege #1
Marvel isn’t wasting any time this year. They’re straight-up kicking off the first publishing week of 2010 by rocketing straight into their magnum opus, Siege. In a staggering bout of dumb-assery, Norman Osborn has decide it is time to throw down with the lords of Asgard. I’m not sure what sort of excessive hubris you have to be packing to decide you want to fuck with the Gods, but apparently the voices in Osborn’s head have it. So Obsorn, and his douchebag brigade of cronies, the DARK AVENGERS are going to stomp right into Asgard and I assume, ultimately get tore the fuck up.

I’m sold.

At its simplest, Siege is an excuse for Marvel to have Osborn battle a bunch of deities, which seems to result in the fractured core Avengers getting back together and putting a stink on the Green Goblin’s face. It’s been such a long time since Stark and Rogers and Mr. Thor got together to lay thunder and shield and repulsor ray on a common enemy. Ever since Civil War, they’ve been spread out across a multitude of realms. Steve Rogers is straight trippin’ balls after getting shot into the plot of Slaughterhouse-5, Tony Stark has reduced himself to a vegetable, and Thor? I’m not really sure what he’s been up to.

Marvel is branding it as the culmination of seven years of plotline, and I’m ready for it baby. If I had to live another year with Norman Osborn running pretty much everything, I was going to rip out asshair and fashion a stankbeard. I’m hoping that Steve Rogers, fully minted in his body again, is like, you fucking guys let Norman Obsorn weasel his way into power? Talk about dropping the fucking ball! But seriously though. From the moment the Avengers all disassembled, into Civil War, into the death of Steve Rogers, into the most Secret of Invasions, into Dark Reign, it’s been one goddamn nightmare after another for the Marvel Universe. And not only that, but the complexity and burdersome nature of intertwining every title into some sort of endless, fatiguing Super Event has left me wistfully thinking of simpler days.

It’s Brian Marvel Bendis and the gorgeous art of Olivier Coipel throwing an epic showdown in Asgard, that is promising to strip down and simplify the Marvel Universe. I’m sold.

There’s nothing really else coming out in the Marvelverse that catches my eye this week. See, I refrained from saying “nothing else that is awesome coming out”, showing my wonderful growth as a human being and open minded comic book reader. However, Marvel last week did tease this gorgeous piece of Spider-Man artwork by Pasqual Ferry. Something serious is going down with Peter Parker this year! Go fucking figure! There’s always something big going on with him. Ever since that douche traded his marriage and memories of Mary Jane to Mephisto in exchange for saving Aunt May’s decaying, disgusting, propped-up-by-pills-and-preservatives-ass, I’d been down on the Emo Arachnid. Who makes that trade? May has like three good years left, and she’s wasting them by marrying the father of J. Jonah Jameson. Good work dude, your spider-ears have to hear the groans of old Aunt May backing that ass up for the father of the guy who absolutely hates you.

Orc Stain #1

Listen. I’m a geek who plays World of Warcraft, secretly wishes he was Gimli and listens to shit like Amon Amarth. Anything called Orc Stain is going to gain my attention. I feel like I have to champion it misguidedly on principle alone. It’s about an orc (duh) named Stain who has begun to see the cracks in orc existence and the endless wars they fight. It seems like social commentary to me, featuring an orc. Now I’m really sold. It’s by writer James Stokoe, and while I don’t know him because I’m ignorant and uneducated, better people may have read his work Wonton Soup, whose premise is that one of the galaxies best chefs leaves behind galactic acclaim to become a space trucker. Bizarre. And cool.

Superman World of New Krypton #11

I have no idea what’s going on in the world of Superman. I also have no idea why this title isn’t tying into Blackest Night. Was there some sort of break-down in office memos? I mean, you need to slap the Blackest Night title on that shit! Sells more copies! Black Lanterns are canvassing the entire cosmos, but they can’t roll up onto New Krypton? Wicked weird, yo. I’m just kidding. I’m glad they’re doing their own thing, and they haven’t been assimilated into the monolith event.

All I know is that Clark Kent has been framed for murder, and there’s some sort of conspiracy between Kryptonian guilds. I didn’t make that up, apparently New Krypton has been taken over by guilds, maybe because they play too much Warcraft and they’re like, we’re fucking superheroes, let’s form a guild. They sound so cool.

But seriously, who would ever believe Kal-El is a murderer? If the dude had some balls he would have punched the dumb head off of Lex Luthor eons ago. Dude definitely isn’t into Bentham and his utilitarian ethics. How many lives could you have saved, Clark, if you just mustered up one skull crush? Yeah, stand on your moral high ground. I’m sure there’s some mother whose child had their head stepped on by Metallo who probably disagrees with you and your high horse.

Just sayin’.

As anyone in the know…knows, today is Bayonetta Day! Happy fucking Bayonetta day! Much less importantly, it is my birthday. And whenever my Mom has asked me what I wanted for my birthday, I told her point blank: Bayonetta. So when I woke up this morning, I found the above awesomeness sitting on my keyboard. Thanks to a boatload of antipsychotics in my system, my Mom was able to sneak into my Dungeon Lair, and place this gently on my keyboard. She is the best Mom ever.